Her Unbelievable Strength
by sctwilightvampwolfgal
Summary: Francis often wonders how he'd ended up with a citizen and a friend as strong as she is. It's a kind of strength that Francis can't even imitate.


It's not at all odd, to see her lay down her weapon after a long fight, bones pulled tight against muscle, chest heaving from exhaustion, ready to collapse, but not willing to let herself do so. France sits down and just watches her, sees the tendons push back in place, sees how even now or especially now, she holds her back up straight. He isn't stunned by her resolve anymore, by the tight control she keeps on herself, nor by the whisper soft prayer that follows.

The 'Our Father' is nearly too quiet to hear, but France joins in, anyway. Matching word for word, beat for beat, and he wonders why his faith grows dim out here, when the battle makes his bones go weary, jump and freeze. Her faith is somehow made stronger in the adversity, and she never cries in front of them. It isn't fear that holds them back; it's something else. Perhaps, it goes back to her resolve or the almost charade of masquerading as a man, in order to fight this war, for God and for country.

She doesn't seem to mind that he's praying with her, but he wonders if it isn't hard for her sometimes to finish the prayer out her, if it's hard for her to forgive their enemies. France just isn't sure who all are his enemies anymore, because alliances break and shift, and he's not sure, right now, if he has friends among the nations or if he ever had. He knows that it's harder to forgive himself though, and he isn't sure he likes the thought, as Joan of Arc finishes the prayer, no hint or sense of hesitation. She just does. She just is, stronger than he ever was.

"You can get some sleep tonight, if you want." She looks away, out along the countryside, and he hopes that soldiers don't swim through her mind, the way that they do through Francis's, when he tries to get some sleep, in a warzone.

"I don't know if I want to." He sits back, relaxes, and knows that despite how rigidly tight his muscles are, despite the fact that he knows that they won't calm down anytime soon, he also knows that time sometimes feels short, regardless whether you are among your friends, your citizens; those that often feel like family, even if they are not.

"I'll keep lookout." She offers anyway, and Francis pretends that he doesn't see the tired in her eyes. It wouldn't help to point it out, even as she leans to the side, and readjusts herself. She was always stunning in her armor, and he isn't sure whether it's just the pride bubbling up as he looks at one of his own, seeing her strength, or if it's just the admiration of someone that he finds stronger than himself.

"I know, you will." He sighs as he leans to the side, hoping that sleep will come, but knowing that it won't. "You're good at it, Jeanne, I just can't sleep tonight."  
"You haven't slept in two nights." She looks at him, and the concern there, that's always there when she looks after her soldiers, nearly makes him try to sleep despite the way his own body warrs against him.

"Neither have you." Francis sighs; he knows that she needs the sleep more than him. She's human, and her days might be limited from lack of sleep, and he isn't, but he doubts that he could convince her to sleep, even if he were an expert convincer.

"I know." She doesn't deny it. Joan never sidesteps around the truth or tries to save wounded pride; she's always been a fighter, and so eager to listen to God, that despite France's exhaustion, he knows that she'll even overcome her own, as much as was humanly possible. Francis is proud of her.

Times like these make him wonder how he of all people ended up with her as a friend or even as a citizen of his own country.

"Sleep when you can." Francis sits up straight, trying to really empower his next words, "And I hope that your dreams are not of this war."  
She nods, "I hope so too." Joan looks away again, just to watch, to look anywhere, but get caught up in the many little things that they don't dare say, or perhaps the things that they do say, make her look away.

Francis would defend her with his life; he loves his beloved 'daughter,' and he hopes for the best to this war, even as he knows that she'll still pray for them, even when most people have gone weary. She's so much stronger than he'd ever been.


End file.
